


Going Green

by ladyworld_astronomer



Category: TWRP | Tupper Ware Remix Party (Band)
Genre: (Captain America voice): Language!, Caution: Potentially LETHAL levels of sass, Havve is Tired and has all the brain cells in this family, Meouch is a meme lord but not a complete asshole (usually), Phobos is also kind of a meme lord, Sung is a disaster gremlin but we still love him, he tries to be supportive but he has some Concerns, rock n roll best friends, several pop culture references, that's just where I get all my hair dye stuff so it kind of ended up being a part of this, this fic is NOT sponsored by Sally Beauty Supply, which is both a blessing and a curse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-02-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:28:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22481818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyworld_astronomer/pseuds/ladyworld_astronomer
Summary: "How hard can it be?"Those five words had gotten Sung into a lot of trouble over the years. This is the time he tried dyeing his hair at home.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 16





	Going Green

**Author's Note:**

> I was reminiscing on the first time I ever dyed my hair, and what a disaster it was, and I thought "Y'know what? This seems like a Sung situation." So here we are. I hope you like it! :D

Sung was in the middle of cooking dinner when Meouch hollered at him from the living room. “Hey, Sung?”

“Yeah?”

“Why the fuck are we getting email coupons from Sally Beauty Supply?”

“Oh! I joined their membership club thingy.”

“Yeah, I got that. Why? And why on our shared email?”

“I forgot my other one.” He ignored Meouch’s sigh. “I decided I’m gonna dye my hair!”

Meouch raised an eyebrow. _“You_ are going to dye your hair?”

“Yep!”

You’re not going to get that professionally done? Phobos signed, having deemed the conversation interesting enough to pause his game of Tetris.

“No. How could I hide my obvious non-human-ness from an Earth hair professional?”

“We have this fun thing called a _spaceship,_ Sung. It can take you—”

“I know, asshole.” 

All I’m saying is that this might go better if you go get it done somewhere. We can make a day trip somewhere off-planet and you can get your hair done.

“Yeah, but I’ve already bought all the stuff. The person at the store was very helpful.”

“Uh huh. And did they seem to think you could do this?”

Sung crossed his arms. “Give me a break, guys. Who cares if I fuck it up? It’s just hair, it’ll grow back. Can’t you have a _little_ faith in me? Besides, how hard can it be?”

“Sung,” Meouch said, standing and holding his phone up, “I want you to look directly into this camera and repeat what you just said to me.”

Sung flipped him off.

To answer your question: I’m a little worried, not going to lie. I have faith in you, I just think this will be a bit more difficult than you are anticipating.

**“I agree,”** Havve said, finally weighing in. **“Chemistry is not one of your strong suits. I have a little faith in you. Emphasis on ‘little.’”**

“What about you, Meouch? Do you believe in me?”

He grinned. “I think you already know the answer to that question.”

Sung rolled his eye. “Whatever. You guys are gonna be jealous as fuck, and when you decide you wanna dye your hair, guess what? I’m not gonna help you! You’re on your own!”

“Sung, that is absolute bullshit, and we all know it. You will be begging us to let you dye our hair, not the other way around,” Meouch said.

Sung huffed, a non-response, because he knew that Meouch was right. He turned back to the stove, pretending to be more annoyed than he actually was. He threw a grin over his shoulder and pointed at Meouch threateningly with the very non-threatening spatula. “Don’t make me poison your food.”

Phobos waved to get Sung’s attention. What color are you dyeing it?

“I’m going green!”

Dark green, neon? I don’t want you to end up with, like, a baby poop green.

“I think baby poop green would be a great look, Sung.”

“A bright green,” he said, ignoring Meouch. 

Cool!

“I’m talking, like, a _Synthesize Her,_ Techno-slash-Necromancy green.”

Nice.

“Like a punch-you-in-the-face green.”

Got it.

“I’m surprised you’re not going for orange,” Meouch said. “That’s kind of your brand.”

“What, and necromancy isn’t?”

“Touché.”

**“Regardless of what color you dye it, nobody’s going to see it, Sung. Unless you’re ditching the cone?”**

“You guys will see it! And Danny and Brian and the other guys. And I’ll see it! I don’t live in the cone.”

Havve shrugged. **“Good luck. I think you’ll need it.”**

“Listen, you’re nothing if not stubborn,” Meouch said. “I think you’ll get there eventually, but I’m anticipating quite a bit of trial and error and laughing at your expense.”

“You could help me, you know.”

A brief silence settled, which was broken by Havve saying **“No, I don’t think I will.”**

If you seriously want help, I will. But I don’t want to ruin my clothes.

“I think I can do it myself, I was just giving you guys a hard time.”

“Sung, don’t you want to know what my answer is?”

He looked Meouch dead in the eye. “I think you already know the answer to that question.”

* * *

Per Havve’s insistence, Sung had covered just about every surface of the bathroom except for the mirror. To be fair, Sung didn’t feel like replacing anything if he got bleach on it, so he found everything from old towels to unused sheets to newspapers to protect the bathroom from what Havve was apparently expecting to be an abstract art installation featuring bleach splatters.

He squinted at the stupidly small print on the package of powder and the developer. There was no logical reason it had to be that small, really. He sighed, carefully stirring in the developer, eye stinging from the fumes. It was a tedious back-and-forth of adding developer, stirring, adding more, stirring, adding powder, and stirring, until he finally got the right consistency. Or at least, what he thought was the right consistency. 

Sung leaned closer to the mirror and began applying bleach to the first lock of hair. He started at the roots, trying not to get it on his scalp. He painted the bleach down to the tips of his hair, and went back over it again, trying to get it all even. When he was satisfied, he moved on, going chunk by chunk along his hairline.

The bleach was stinging his eye even more now, and he had to turn the fan on with his elbow just so it would stop watering. “This certainly is a _look,_ ” he laughed to himself when he saw his reflection. A little less than half of his hair had bleach on it, all in various stages of lightening. He was wearing a white tank top and swim trunks, because he didn’t care if bleach got on either of those. Phobos made him promise he would not dye his eyebrow or his mustache, so he wore a medical mask and had slathered vaseline on his eyebrow to avoid the temptation. 

When his whole head was finally covered, he sat around for thirty minutes, confined to the bathroom while the bleach worked. He was extremely careful to rinse his hair away from his face. Just the idea of diluted bleach water in his eye made him want to cry. Thank the _stars_ he hadn’t actually slathered this shit on his eyebrow. When he was finally sure he had rinsed it all out, he blow-dried his hair.

His hair felt a little dry, a little stiff, but it didn’t worry him. He did just bleach the crap out of it, after all. His hair had taken the bleach really well, and for the first time in his life he was blond. He liked it, but not enough to abandon the concept of dyeing it green. He had the dye already—but maybe he’d spend a day or two as a blond. It would give his hair some time to recover, too.

“It’s done, guys!” he announced as he entered the living room. Havve paused whatever they were watching as Sung stood directly in front of the TV and spun around. “Whaddaya think?”

He didn’t love his friends' immediate reactions. Meouch was desperately trying not to laugh, and failing miserably, shoulders shaking. Phobos had his head in his hands, sighing before sitting up. Havve said nothing. “What? Does it look bad? I know it’s a little uneven, but I thought I did pretty good!”

Sung?

“What?”

You missed a spot.

Sung just stared at him. “Are you serious?” He shot a glare at Meouch, who was wheezing. “Where?”

Phobos stood up and turned Sung around, carefully taking that section of hair in his hand. He took a picture of it to show to Sung. It’s really not that bad. Do you have any bleach left over?

“I did, but I rinsed out the little cup thingy. I suppose I could mix some more, but…” he trailed off, trying to figure out how he would do the math next time.

“Ok, but for real, Sung? After you dye your entire head green, I’m not sure you’ll be able to tell,” Meouch said. _“We_ will know, and _we_ won’t let you forget, but I don’t think anyone else will.”

**“Agreed.”**

Sung sighed. “Okay. I just can’t believe I actually missed a spot.”

“I can.”

“I know, Meouch.”

* * *

Unlike the bleach, which had fumes so strong that part of Sung had wanted to curl up in a ball and cry, the actual hair dye didn’t have much of a scent. It was a bit thicker than the bleach was—or maybe this was what it was supposed to be like, and Sung had fucked it up. It worked well enough. He was just glad he didn’t have to do any alchemy to get the perfect shade of green.

Sung had doubled up on disposable gloves for the actual coloring process—he wanted green hair, not green hands. He took a section of hair and began painting the green on, just like he did with the bleach. He worked a bit more slowly with the color. The bleach was a little uneven, partially because he didn’t know what he was doing, and partially because he was impatient. He didn’t mind the uneven bleach because, as Phobos pointed out, natural hair isn’t one solid color, either. What was the word he had used? Dimension. The uneven bleach would create various shades of green that would give his hair _dimension._

When he thought he had his entire head covered, he called to Havve. _Hey, buddy, can you do me a favor?_

_Maybe._

_Can you come check my hair? Like, make sure I got it all covered?_

A few moments later, there were four quick knocks on the door, and Havve let himself in. He carefully looked over Sung’s head, and gave him a thumbs up. _You’re good._

_Thanks, Havve!_

Sung still had some hair dye left over, but not enough to warrant saving the bottle. He squirted the remaining dye straight onto his hands and rubbed in the excess. It was kind of like he was shampooing his hair, just with green goop. 

When he was done, he peeled the plastic gloves off, gagging at how sweaty his hands had gotten. After washing the sweat off of his hands, he set a timer and waited. When it went off, Sung stuck his head under the tub faucet and began rinsing his hair. The bottle said to rinse with cold water, and he shuddered at the feeling of ice-cold water rushing over his scalp. It was almost painful, and he ended up adjusting the temperature so it was still cold, just not soul-crushingly so.

Sung’s teeth were chattering and his hands were numb when he finally said “Fuck it!” and gave up on the water running clear. He’d been rinsing forever, and the water was a significantly lighter shade of green than it was when he started. It was good enough. He wrapped his hair up in an old towel and stood, blinking the spots out of his eye. He kept the water running for a bit, halfheartedly scrubbing at the light green residue in the tub. Within a few minutes, almost no green remained.

His skin, however, was an entirely different story. Most of his forehead, right cheek, and ears were stained in various shades of green, like he had painted with watercolors. He gave up on scrubbing the dye off of his face when his skin started to get irritated. His hands were very green, even his nails and cuticles, to the point that several minutes of washing with soap and warm water barely changed the color. He just hoped it would all slowly rub off on non-important things over the next few days.

He took his hair out of the towel. It was hard to tell, but he didn’t think his hair had bled on it. He turned to the mirror, and grinned.

His hair was fucking _awesome._

It was exactly the way he imagined, exactly the way he wanted it. He was practically giddy as he brushed his hair. He ran out to the living room, showing off his new color to better reactions than the bleach. Phobos loved it, Havve just nodded his approval and moved on with his life, and Meouch? He was impressed, but tried to hide it, mixing in jabs with compliments just to make sure Sung’s ego didn’t get too big. 

Sung was completely obsessed with his new hair. He absolutely loved it.

* * *

The honeymoon period didn’t last long.

Sung’s hair bled green absolutely everywhere. His bed was covered in old towels to protect his now green-tinged pillowcase and sheets. He was secretly glad that Havve insisted a towel be placed between his head and any other surface in their house, because otherwise, just about everything they owned would have turned green.

At least he was able to get most of the green off of his skin. Meouch said that Google recommended Clorox wipes, which worked surprisingly well.

By far the worst offense was that not only were several of his shirt collars dyed green, but he had accidentally ruined his favorite tank top.

He hadn’t noticed any new green rubbing off on his clothes or sheets, and stupidly assumed his hair was done bleeding. He had gone out for a morning run, trying to escape the oncoming heat wave. 

The kitchen was slightly chaotic when he got back, everybody awake and hungry. “Good morning!” Sung said, bounding in. “How is everyone?”

“Uh, Sung?” Meouch said.

“What’s up?”

“You’re sweating green.”

“What?” He ran his hand through his hair, and sure enough, there was green on his palm. “Shit!” He bolted for the bathroom, chanting _“Shit! Shit! Shit!”_ under his breath. He flipped the light switch on, and gasped.

Green. Green everywhere. He never realized just how much sweat traveled until he saw how far down his back the green had gone, staining his tank top. It used to be white. It wasn’t anymore.

“WHAT THE _FU-UCK?!”_ Sung screeched, his voice cracking. He coughed into his elbow, trying to ease the pain in his throat. He hadn’t meant to do that. He wished he hadn’t done that.

Sung came back to the kitchen, pissed off and sad. He cleared his throat, still recovering from the demon screech. “I fucking rinsed all the extra green out!” he said quietly. “This wasn’t supposed to happen! This is my favorite tank top!”

**“Yeah, I don’t think you’re getting the green out of this one.”**

“F in the chat,” Meouch said.

“I actually read the instructions! And I followed them! And it’s still bleeding!”

“‘I am disgusted, I am insulted, I—’”

“Meouch, _please.”_

Phobos got everyone’s attention. Wait here, I’ll be right back. Nobody move. He took off, running down the hall and returning a few seconds later, acoustic guitar in hand. He stood perfectly straight in the doorway to the kitchen, fingers hovering above the strings, all eyes on him. After a suitably dramatic pause, he looked Sung dead in the eye with a blank expression.

He played the bridge of _Hide and Seek,_ immediately putting _“Mmm whatcha say”_ in everyone’s heads.

Meouch practically screamed with laughter, doubling over himself and gasping, hanging onto Havve for support. Sung tried (and failed) to stifle his laughter, a little too impressed to pretend to be offended. Havve just shoved Meouch off of him and clapped when Phobos was done.

“Oh my gods!” Meouch shouted. “GUYS! Guys, this is so sad! Phobos, play _Despacito!”_

Havve groaned loudly as Phobos immediately launched into the chorus. Sung threw his hands up in the air with an exasperated sigh that quickly turned into laughter. “Why do you know all the meme songs?!” 

“Dude, why wouldn’t he know all the meme songs?”

Exactly. Would you expect anything less of me? Phobos accented that by playing the “Game Over” song from every Mario game ever.

Sung dragged a hand down his face with an exaggerated sigh. “Alright, listen: I’ll be out of the shower in, like, thirty minutes. By that point, I want you assholes to have learned _Amazing Grace,_ so we can give my tank top the dramatic, emotional send-off it _deserves!”_ Phobos nodded with a small salute. “Make it so.”

Sung, that has been, and always shall be, your tank top.

**“Your tank top contributed less to this world than a Redshirt in _Star Trek.”_**

He gasped, dramatically putting his non-green hand on his chest. “That was fucking RUDE!”

“Holy shit, Havve, you’re really just gonna call him out like that?”

**“Yes. What have we learned, Sung?”**

He sighed. “That apparently, just because the fucking water runs clear, that doesn’t mean all the extra green is washed out.”

* * *

Sung was a little frustrated.

Within the span of about two weeks, most of the green had either washed right out of his hair or had rubbed off on everything he owned. It was almost like the dye stuck to everything but his hair, just to spite him. The beautiful, vibrant green had faded into something sad, and definitely not what he signed up for. Some Googling told him that apparently the brand he bought was notorious for doing exactly that. He was not the first person to be disappointed by them, and unfortunately he would not be the last. He felt a little better after leaving a one-star review online. 

Thankfully, he had been sent another coupon for hair dye. He talked to an employee who also had fun-colored hair, taking detailed notes on his phone. They had been dyeing their hair for years, and assured Sung that they knew what they were talking about. He left the store with two bags full of shit he didn’t realize he needed. Or maybe he didn’t need them, and the employee was just really good at selling him shit he didn’t need. Either way, he was ready for another attempt, this time (hopefully) with more success.

The employee had looked horrified when he told them he was going to bleach his hair again, and they very kindly explained why that was a terrible idea. He managed to get the lingering sad green out after a few rounds of washing with dish soap, leaving him mostly blond. He once again covered the bathroom and set to work dyeing his hair, painting the new green on section by section. It was a tad darker than what he was going for, but he was told that it would fade nicely, and closer to the color he really wanted.

At that point, he just wanted any green that would stick to his hair and not ruin all the fabric in his house.

He decided to let the dye sit for a few hours, and went about his day ignoring the teasing from his bandmates about the shower cap he wore. He didn’t want to be confined to the bathroom, and he didn’t want to get green on anything. When he went to rinse his hair, he used a “color-locking conditioner” that was supposed to do something magical and make the dye stick—he couldn’t remember exactly what they had said, but that was the gist of it.

The second time around went much better. His hair took the color wonderfully, and did not bleed nearly as much as the first dye did. He still took a few precautions during the first few days: towel on his pillowcase, wearing dark clothes, washing his hair with cold water (even though that made him want to die a bit inside). But after about a week, the dye was still as vibrant as ever, and no longer bleeding on everything. He low-key stalked the Sally Beauty store until he saw the person who helped him again, thanking them profusely. He even emailed the customer service people to tell them how awesome his hair-dye-advice-friend was.

As soon as he dyed his hair, it was like he suddenly had an awareness of all colored hair around him. Meouch called it his hairdar—"like a radar for unnatural hair colors." It seemed like more people around him had colored hair. Or maybe now that he was one of them, he just noticed it more. Some people had their whole head dyed, some just a section, some had highlights. He made a point to tell every one of them how awesome their hair looked, loving the way their faces lit up.

Even though most of the world would never see it, he loved his green hair. It almost felt natural, despite the effort it took to get there and the fact that it was clearly an unnatural color. It was very him, very “on brand”, as Meouch said. Sung couldn't stop playing with his hair, twirling it idly around his fingers while lost in thought, or mussing it up so it would fall into his field of vision. He would try to catch glimpses of the green in any vaguely reflective surface. He grinned every time he saw his hair in the mirror.

About two weeks after the successful attempt, Sung was sprawled out on one of the couches in the living room, scrolling aimlessly through social media, when he got a text.

**_Dancing Queen_ sent a message to _Hulk_**

****

_14:39 - Dancing Queen:_ Boo! 

****

He looked up and saw Phobos standing by his feet. “Hey, Phobos!” he said, sitting up. “What’s up, my dude?” 

I have a question.

“Okay. Shoot.” 

Phobos handed his phone to Sung. The screen showed him an email advertising a sale. Do you think you could help me dye a streak in my hair?

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Have a lovely day!


End file.
